


Nightmare On The Rocinante

by LordGrimwing



Category: The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Gen, Minor Jim Holden/Naomi Nagata, Nightmares, Post-Season/Series 04, Spoilers through Season 4, mix of book and show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordGrimwing/pseuds/LordGrimwing
Summary: Holden wakes up from a vivid nightmare. Maybe, it wasn't just in his head and maybe it wasn't just his dream.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Nightmare On The Rocinante

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bad At Dying](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/562096) by Spot991. 



> Pod fic now available --> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586226
> 
> So, this work is inspired by a story over on Fanfiction.net (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12013470/1/Bad-At-Dying) which explains how Miller survived the end of season 4. I suggest you read it before this one but if you don't want to, just know that Miller added himself to the Roci's computer system before crap went south on Ilus. 
> 
> As a heads up, there is one swear word at the end of the story.
> 
> Feedback is always great and as this is my first Expanse fic I would love to know what people think.

Holden woke with a start, sweat making his skin sticky, gasping for breath as he swatted away an imaginary cyan firefly. His hands trembled as he rubbed at his eyes, clearing away the last of the nightmare’s blue haze. His palms came away wet. He’d been back on Eros: desperately searching for the rest of the  _ Rocinante _ ’s crew—the rest of his family—as the asteroid collapsed into a writhing mass of black vines and blue fireflies. It felt so real. He’d heard them crying for help but every time he got close, the passageways would change and he’d be lost again. Holden muffled a sob with his hands.

Naomi lay beside him in their crash couch, serine in sleep, blissfully untroubled by her partner’s sudden movement and smothered sound. Her hair flowed over the headrest, nearly floating in the low g. She was fine. Naomi was on the  _ Roci _ —everyone was on the  _ Roci _ . 

They were millions of kilometers away from anything that resembled a threat. The last physical traces of the protomolecule in the solar system were locked away on Tycho and on the far side of the sun, sitting quiet and harmless out past Uranus. The only reminder left on his ship the complex program to which Miller copied his consciousness before forming a suicide pact with whatever had awakened on Ilus. He hadn’t even been around much the last few days: speaking only when directly addressed, not even bothering to project himself into anyone’s mind. Holden hadn’t dreamed of Eros in over a year. Why now, when life consisted mostly of transport protection and dodging calls from Fred Johnson and Monica Stuart?

Holden slid off the bed, careful not to disturb Naomi. He didn’t want to wake her. Slowly, still trembling slightly, he pulled on a shirt in the near darkness and stepped out into the hall. 

The padded flooring was soft against his bare feet, giving slightly beneath him with each step. The lights were brighter out here, every corner illuminated and free of black vines or moss or nautilus shell swirls. The galley was empty, the machine shop deserted. Amos should be asleep in his room and Alex was probably asleep on the flight deck. The ship was quiet and calm as everyone conformed to Earth’s twenty-four-hour day. No hidden stowaway in the cargo locker, no saboteur crippling the communication systems. Slowly, Holden turned back toward Naomi’s and his room. 

An innocent blue firefly danced out of an air vent near the floor. 

Holden froze. 

The blue dot drifted up the wall next to him before settling halfway up and extending black vines along the padded surface. One of the tendrils reached out toward him.

Holden fell back, scrambling across the floor until his back hit the ladder leading up to the command deck. Lazily, the protomolecule followed. It did not need to be fast, there were only so many places to go on a ship. Fresh fireflies began drifting from the vines, slipping into the vents, spreading to form new colonies. 

Holden tried to call out. To warn someone—anyone—that a piece of the alien monster had survived, that they were all about to be consumed like Julie, like Eros, added to the never-quite-dead of the protomolecule’s victims. His tongue was thick and heavy, the only sound he got past it was a desperate, choking, wheeze. Blue fireflies danced toward him, floating on wafts of acetone and ether. 

The hatch above him opened, a thick vine inching down from above. Oily slime seeped out of the fabric on the walls, pooling on the floor, oozing toward the crew quarters. The rest of the ship was already infected.

Futilely, the black-haired Earther curled up, trying to protect his face from the fireflies, trying not to breathe as they thickened the air. They were all doomed. 

  
  


Alex slid down the ladder, the low g forgiving on his joints. Beanie pulled low over his thinning hair, headphones tapping out a song that hadn’t been good when it came out thirty years ago, the pilot should have been asleep hours ago. He’d planned to, honestly, had even considered turning in early—he wasn’t getting any younger—but then he’d found a file with the  _ Roci _ ’s old battle-ready performance standards. With Miller playing the silent game, Alex figured now was as good a time as any to make sure the  _ Roci _ was still up to spec without the old detective interrupting every five minutes to remind him that the whole thing would go so much faster if the pilot just let the  _ Rocinante _ run the checks herself. This really meant let Miller do it as that wasn’t something the ship would have been capable of doing before the protomolecule ghost integrated with her systems. Alex wasn’t about to let someone without an MCRN diagnostics certificate run these kinds of calculations, even if that someone had spent years in the minds of every pilot trapped on Eros.

Now, though, Alex was about ready to fall asleep where he stood. As much as he wanted to finish the checks tonight, the pull toward his actual bed in his actual room was a bit stronger than the current one-third g. He slipped off the ladder and almost fell, trying to avoid stepping on his captain.

Holden lay curled at his feet, arms wrapped around his head, bare knees drawn up to his chest. He shook as soundless sobs racked his body. Alex stared down at him, wide-eyed.

“Hoss?” He finally managed, drawl stretching out the syllable, pulling his headphones down around his neck.

He didn’t get any response. 

Alex glanced down the hall to the crew quarters. Maybe he should just call Naomi, she’d know how to handle this, right? No, wait, he’d left his hand terminal at the pilot seat. He could just walk to her room, it didn’t look like Holden would go anywhere.

“Hoss? You awake?” He tried again, crouching down this time.

“Alex?” Holden’s head came up, eyes open but distant. “Alex, you need an EVA suit. You have to get away!” His voice was desperate but thick with half-consciousness. 

“Uh, pretty sure it’s just a dream, hoss,” Alex said calmly, adjusting his beanie.

“No! You need to get out of here.” The captain pushed at him weakly. “Protomolecule.” 

Oh, one of those dreams. “I don’t see anything out of place, partner. But—hey—lucky us, the solar system’s resident protomolecule expert is hitching a ride with us now. I bet he knows how to get rid of it.” Alex laid his hands over the pair fisted in his jumpsuit. “Hey, Miller—”

For an instant, the world shifted. 

Blue fireflies swirled with the air currents, lighting the hall with their alien glow. Thick black fibers writhed over the walls and floor. A hundred thousand screaming voices tickled at the edge of his hearing. Overwhelming fear pushed at the back of his mind.

For an instant and then gone.

Miller stood before Alex. The detective wasn’t in his usual rumpled suit, the old hat absent. Miller wore a patched EVA suit, the split circle of the Outer Planets Alliance painted on the chest. The helmet was missing. Glowing particles dashed in and out of his open mouth, spinning around him, slipping into the compromised spacesuit. Something dark and tinted red dripped out of his mouth, staining ashen skin as it ran down his chin. Behind his wide eyes, a light flicked and danced--or maybe it was in front of him and Alex could only see the reflection. 

Miller held together for an instant, then disintegrated into blue sparks that winked out before reaching the floor.

“What?” Alex coughed out, drawl momentarily lost.

Holden’s hands relaxed their grip, pulling back to rub at slowly clearing eyes. “What just happened?” he said, voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. Alex helped Holden to his feet, hanging on to his arm afterward as much to reassure himself that the captain was real as to make sure the other man didn’t fall. 

A door hissed open. Naomi stepped out of her room, looking left and right down the hall until she finally saw the two men and went to them, taking Holden’s other arm as he continued to tremble. Her eyes were red and she looked on the verge of tears.

“I think,” Alex said very slowly, heart pounding, “either Miller’s sense of humor has gotten even worse, or he isn’t nearly as fine as he claims.”

Amos shuffled out of his room, eyes squinted and confused. “Anyone else’s dream just turn into a fucking nightmare?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Minor edits 7/18/2020


End file.
